Blue Badger Day
by Alchemical Angel
Summary: klaviema. When Blue Badger Day dawns on the personnel of the Criminal Affairs Department, rather awkward encounters occur.


_((Another KlavierxEma fic. I only wish I owned Phoenix Wright/Apollo Justice Ace Attorney Series.))_

It was Blue Badger Day at police headquarters, most notably in the Criminal Affairs Department, where the mascot was supposedly spawned. On the day of the holiday, those involved with the police department often engaged in gift-giving, to celebrate the birth of their beloved Blue Badger.

Ema hated the holiday. Very few knew of her connection to the cartoon creature. Nevertheless, she brought a small present to Criminal Affairs that morning, leaving it on the desk the prosecuting, glimmerous fop used when he hung around outside of his office. She couldn't help but anticipate his discovery of the gift, how he would think it was some trifle left by a fan that had learned of his address, of his workspace, and how he would then dread the constant stream of squealing adolescents once that information was broadcast. But at the same time, she strangely hoped that he would like the gift. It was a purple guitar pick, of the same material and shape as his favorite. She had used acid to burn a silver Gavinner's logo at its center. The acid had long since dried away and would not be harmful. It actually would last on the pick much longer than any paint and, since it was etched lightly into the pick, would not wear away with use. Ema had taken great pains to make sure it was perfect, at the same time eliminating any trace of forensic clues as to who the gift's giver was.

To her great surprise, there was a present waiting on her desk. It was a plain white paper bag. She snatched it up, thinking it a prank. There was no one in the office she knew or liked enough for them to have gotten her a present. To her great delight, the bag was filled to the brim with Snackoos. She didn't make any noise in her joy, but others noticed her swiveling in her chair far into the morning.

She didn't trust anyone in the office, and she was curious as to who it was who gave the gift to her. She didn't eat a single Snackoo all morning, and on her lunch break entered the forensics lab and acquired permission to use its wonderful equipment.

To her frustration, she observed that whoever had given her gift had worn gloves. But this was curved as she happily learned that the Snackoos were not poisoned and were safe to eat. She ran the paper bag through different machines various times. Ten minutes- and half the Snackoos- had gone by when the door to the forensics lab opened and a certain German prosecuting rock-star entered.

"Fräulein!" he exclaimed cheerfully in his normal, teasing voice. "The forensics team have gone out to lunch in that restaurant down the street to celebrate Blue Badger Day. Would you run some tests for me?"

She turned and was going to flatly reject him the way she normally did, but she decided against it when he brandished the guitar pick.

"One or two tests can't hurt," she said, trying to sound as resigned as she could whilst knowing he wouldn't find any single shred of evidence.

She had been wearing gloves during her tests of the suspicious paper bag, and therefore instantly snatched the pick from his bronze hand and placed it on the tray of a computerized fingerprint scanner.

"There aren't any prints, Klavier," she stated as the thin red laser ran over the surface of the purple pick without any _blips_ to confirm fingerprints.

"Can you check it for types of residue?" the prosecutor inquired. She obliged, but was inwardly flustered by his lack of any reaction rather than his usual, cocky expression when she explained to him that there was none.

Her own tests were done. She removed the paper bag from a machine with a flashing blue light.

"Thank you for the Snackoos, Klavier," she stated triumphantly. Finally, this elicited a reaction.

"How did you know it was me?" He spoke with widened bright blue eyes. "I made sure to wear gloves."

"I know. You were holding the bag rather tightly, to protect it from the hailstorm yesterday evening, I presume? There's a slight imprint of your medallion on the back of the bag." She was smiling, emerald eyes gleaming behind the fluorescent pink lenses of her special glasses.

"And how do you know I bought them last night?" He responded, impressed.

"They taste like it." She said, not to his particular shock or surprise.

"However," she turned to face the scanning tray, shutting off the machine, "your item doesn't have any fingerprints or fiber particles or residue of any kind on it." As she was speaking, she felt him draw nearer. Assuming he was doing so to retrieve the guitar pick from the tray, she was stunned when she heard his whisper in her ear.

"Thank you, fräulein." She turned, stunned, to face him. He had not drawn away and stood there, quite close, with that blasted smirk on his face.

She stood there for a moment more, too shocked to smack him or push him away. Suddenly she turned away in an endeavor to hide her furiously blushing face from his view. "H-how did you know?" she inquired, embarrassed.

"There's not a single piece of forensic evidence on it. Not even criminals are that clean," he answered simply. She rose her pale hands to cover her face, and she seemed to slump, defeated. Of course no one was that careful.

"This is by far the best pick I've ever possessed," he continued, scooping up the gift from the tray.

"I got the size and shape from the picks you and your band deposited here last year in that study of how calluses affected your fingerprints," she stated. "It's handmade out of pressed plastic and a fiberglass alloy."

Klavier eyed her, amused. "The craftsman has no pride in her work?"

"I had rather hoped you wouldn't have known it was me," responded the detective.

He slipped the pick into his pocket and walked around so that they were face to face. He raised his hands to clasp hers warmly, lowering them from her face. He was no longer smirking, but genuinely smiling.

"I'm happy I did," he said, and kissed her forehead gently before leaving the lab.

Ema stood there, speechless. At first she thought to kick something, flustered by his antics as well as her own, but- seeing there was nothing around her but expensive equipment that she would kill to have- settled for snatching up her bag of Snackoos with more force than necessary and munching ferociously on the chocolate snacks.

Klavier, in the hallway, reached into his pocket and fingered the guitar pick gingerly, as if it were made of gold. He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he thought of what had happened in the lab. Now, whenever he needed to compose a song, he would just have to look at the pick and think of its owner to find his inspiration.


End file.
